


Indifferent Mishaps

by Ordinarily



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Insecurities, Marichat, Secret Identities, Secrets, Slightly Out Of Character, he knows, marinette's kinda sad, playful banter, she doesn't, they're so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 07:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordinarily/pseuds/Ordinarily
Summary: "You make things feel okay even when they aren't."He's her rock, and at the very least, he's glad it's so.





	

It was a comfortable cold. Not quite snow and not quite water adorned the streets—a form of slush, the more appropriate term—and the bulbs from the street lamps were lit aglow, despite the sun already having risen somewhere beyond the silver sky.

Perhaps it was snowing and perhaps it was not, winter slowly inching to its ends. Time was irrelevant, for the sky gave away no such luxury. Furthermore was the silence; no car horns or motors, no howling wind, no chirping birds. There were most certainly occupants in the rows of homes, and most certainly residents in the tallest of apartment buildings, but none seemed to want to come out and play. Perhaps they slept, or worked, or maybe cooked or lounged, but no individual dared to venture out.

It was warm for mid-winter, practically spring; a jacket was needed but gloves could be omitted. She hoped to see a dog, or a passerby, or two, but all she got, really, were the imprints of soles. So she continued down the streets of Paris, minding herself and not really feeling like returning home. What good was another hermit crab safely tucked in its shell, when the weather was so beautiful—beautiful, to her?

She wasn't the only one who thought so, apparently, because clad in black leather and leaping from rooftops was another teenager who possessed the same mindset. From where he was, cold as it may have been, his home city looked lovely, gray and yellows the only two splotches of colors. But pink caught his eye and he was almost surprised at the sight, for there had been no sign of life for hours.

He recognized the girl, and smiled when he did—the adorable girl who sat in back of him in class for the past three years in a row. Dark hair peaking out from her pale pink beanie, he watched her bound across town, destination unbeknownst to him.

What's more, the destination was unbeknownst to her, as well. But when she stopped in front of the massive, European-style building she decided that, hey, the library wasn't the worse place to stall.

Chat Noir, from afar, watched her climb the many steps and struggle with the seemingly heavy stone door. Once she disappeared inside, he bounded down and off the roofs, creeping in the shadows by the large windows, where he could see his lady roam the many aisles in pursue of a book.

Or many books, as it turned out. She let them all crash to the wooden table in front of her, peeling off her coat and setting her beanie on the table in front of her.

What she did next surprised him a tad.

Out of all the years he'd known Marinette, she'd only ever worn her hair in pigtails. So when she cautiously removed the elastics and let her hair loose, he was maybe a little too welcoming of the change. But then she slipped one of the ties around her wrist and threw her hair up in a bun with the other.

_Oh, come on Marinette, I'm already in love with you..._

Honestly, what gave her the right to be so damn _cute_ all the time?

So he slipped into the library, deciding he would play it cool and start up a conversation about homework or something. They _were_ in the same class, after all.

From the outside, the library emitted a warm, yellow glow, apparent through the large windows and contrasting the old, grey bricks. From the inside, wooden floor-to-ceiling shelves were lined in neat rows, thousands of reading material well-organized in practical systems. Seating areas composed of couches and desks were scattered throughout the vast building.

And there was Marinette: Occupying one of the four chairs at the rectangle desk and perched over a book with the several others strewed about.

"Whatcha reading?" he started, Chat Noir suave and Adrien innocence both shining through.

He was almost worried he might've given himself away when she looked up, trepidation in her expression. Something flashed across her face—confusion perhaps—as she seemed to try and collect herself, offering him a small smile.

"Hello Chat. Nice to see you again."

Panic struck Adrien like a lighting bolt. He looked down at himself hurriedly, taking notice of the black leather cladding his body and Plagg's obnoxious cackles somewhere at the back of his mind, and hastily attempted to compose himself, mirroring her exact expression just moments ago.

"Hey, Princess."

 _Of course_ he hadn't changed back. Why would he have changed back?

_Fantastic, Adrien. Astounding job, really. You've outdone yourself this time._

His new year's resolution had been to keep the self-deprecation tendencies at a minimum.

So much for that.

Adrien wasn't necessarily... insecure, per say. But when it came to things going wrong his immediate reaction was to self-blame and essentially shit all over his self-esteem. A small part of him, somewhere deep within the core of his being, wondered if maybe this was the work of his father, but he chastised himself for it and suppressed the thought every time it arose.

"What are you doing out on patrol so early?" she asked him, blue eyes so, so easy to get lost in.

"I-uh-needed some fresh air..." he replied a bit sheepishly.

"Family problems?"

The second it was out Marinette visibly winced.

 _Well why don't you just_ tell _him you're ladybug?_

Surprise was written all over Chat's face too, and she placed her elbow on the table, scrubbing her face with her hand.

How on earth was she going to get herself out of this one?

Chat Noir may have let it slip on a few occasions that he didn't have the best of family situations. But he'd told Ladybug and Ladybug only, and from then on she always made sure that he was okay. Sometimes, they'd spend nights awake together on rooftops and she'd just let him rant and cry and shake for hours and then the sun would rise and he'd be okay again—at least for a little while. Some nights she really felt like he wanted to reveal himself, and she almost felt bad for wanting their identities to be a secret, but the little thought scratching at the back of her mind kept her standing her ground.

If they knew each other's alter-egos everything would be different. He wouldn't be able to speak as freely as he wanted about his home life, and Ladybug wouldn't be able to tell about her insecurities and awkwardness _and_ anxieties.

Not as Marinette.

Because as Ladybug, she could be talking about any other civilian girl... But as Marinette she was forced to come to terms with her vulnerability.

And her flaws.

_God, so many flaws._

 

"You know, my mother once told me that flaws are only conceived from the observer's point of view," Chat had said one night.

Ladybug hummed.

"Which means," he continued, "that flaws are _made up_."

There was a moment of silence as she took in his words.

"And so is beauty."

From that day on, Marinette never scrutinized herself quite as harshly.

 

Chat's shift in tone now made her look up from beneath her parted fingers. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess?" she tried, though it came out awfully more like a question than a response.

But he seemed to buy it, and that was enough for her. He pulled out the chair next to her and turned it sideways from the table, straddling it and leaning his forearms over the back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently, her eyes never leaving him.

That sentence alone made her remind him of Ladybug.

He contemplated it, deciding that, no, he could deal with it for now. Besides, his sob stories were usually reserved for Ladybug.

(Despite them being the same person.)

"What are you doing here?" he began, deciding to change subject.

"I... Didn't feel like going home right away. Something about the weather, maybe."

"It feels nice," he agreed.

"Yeah. Still light out, too."

She'd turned back to her book, though she inadvertently wasn't reading, devoting her attention to the pointless conversation with her partner. They were sort of the only things keeping her sane these days. Playful banter here and talks of conspiracy there...

Thank God for Chat.

The two sat in silence, she examining the tiny words on the hundreds of pages and he lost somewhere in the abyss of his thoughts.

He could tell her, right now. He could tell her he knew her secret and reveal one of his own. Two of his own, actually.

That, hey, _surprise_ , I was Adrien all along, and also, not to burden you or anything, but I'm completely, hopelessly in love with you.

One day he would tell her, he decided (just as he had many times before), watching her eyes flit across the page. But not today.

Scanning the pile of novels, he rummaged through them, finding one about the Greek Gods.

"You know," he started, twirling the hardcover in his hands, "some people consider _me_ to be a Greek God."

Marinette snorted, not even glancing up from her novel.

"Oh, yeah? _Who?_ "

"My loyal fans, but of course." And then he put on a voice that made her throw her head back in laughter. "Chat! Chat we love you! You're beautiful! Ahhh!"

"I honestly can't even deny that. I come across so much fanfiction online."

Chat scooted his chair closer toward her, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Oh, now do you, _Milady_?"

He blanched.

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh no._

But Marinette hadn't even seemed to notice the nickname. Perhaps she'd grown so accustomed to hearing it that she didn't bother to second guess it, even when she wasn't her alter-ego. Instead she rolled her eyes—just like Ladybug would—and replied with some snarky comeback he was too distraught to hear.

"Seriously though there's tonnes about us."

"About _us_?"

Marinette yelped, her chair screeching beneath her as she violently flinched.

"I mean YOU and—Ladybug! Ladybug and you! You guys! The duo! The team! The superheroes! You and Ladybug of course! Because I'm not—I mean you're not—we're not—"

Marinette sighed, folding her arms over the table and sheltering her head with them.

Chat laughed. Indeed, she was making it a lot harder to stand by his decision from earlier.

"Stop laughing at me," Marinette whined, voice muffled by her arms.

"I would never. Though I am curious as to how you messed up your words like that."

"I wish I had," she replied softly, lifting her head.

His heart stopped. This was it. Marinette was finally going to confess and everything would be different now. This was the last time they would ever—

"There are actually a few about us too."

So much for that.

"Wow, when did shy, little Marinette become a _celebrity?"_

Rolling her eyes, she shoved his shoulder back, though he barely moved, years of fighting benefiting him greatly in strength. "Shut up..."

"Aren't you at least a little concerned?"

"I mean, sure. But I think a lot of people know we're friends now. Alya's blog has had a big hand in that." Her voice lowered an octave, as she held her fist below her chin as a pretend microphone. "Superhero Chat Noir and local town girl Marinette Dupain-Cheng spotted at park together last Saturday night."

"Is it really like that?"

"Not even a little exaggerated. Plus, I think I got a little bit of publicity from Gabriel Agreste. He used some of my designs for his new clothing line."

"Wow, that's great. Congratulations, Mari."

"That sounded so fake."

"Sorry," he shrugged. "Guess I'm just not one for clothes."

"That's ironic, considering your full leather body-suit."

"Hey, I didn't choose to wear this."

"You always sort of reminded me of his son. Guess I was wrong about that," she added with a smile.

"Gabriel Agreste's son?"

She nodded.

"What makes you think he's into clothes?"

"He's a model and his dad is one of the most famous fashion designers ever. How could he _not_ be?"

"Right."

"You don't seem convinced."

"I'm not."

"Well I happen to be hopelessly in love with Adrien Agreste, so I think _I_ would know."

Adrien would've replied with some taunting remark about her not knowing him at all, if not for the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his chest. Time seemed to stop and nothing made sense to him anymore. Not quantitative numbers, not calculated time, not the pronunciation of the French language and certainly not the stars at the four corners of the universe.

_Marinette likes Adrien Agreste._

_I'm Adrien Agreste._

_I like Marinette._

And then he was flying. Not on earth or in the sky, but a medium somewhere in between the worlds of life and death.

"Chat are you okay?"

He coughed. "Fine. Yes. I am totally fine. A-okay, Marinette. Purr-fect."

Damn force of habit.

"So you like Adrien?"

Even to him, his voice sounded weak and squeaky. A pitch too high and cracking over the syllables of his own name.

"Like is an understatement. God, it's been what? Three years? Yet I can't seem to forget about him."

Chat swallowed hard.

"You know, it's like you think someone is attractive and then you actually become friends with them and get to know them and every original feeling you had toward them amplifies by 10. The plot holes you had to fill in for yourself before with theories and guesses... become real, concrete facts. Information about someone that makes them a real, actual person, you know? Not just someone you idolize from afar... They become genuine _feelings_."

He was at a loss for words. (For the second time in a span of two minutes, mind you.)

"Sorry that was a little much, huh?"

"No, no, it's," he stumbled out, breathless, "okay."

"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic."

"Now that sounds like something _I_ would say."

"I guess you're rubbing off on me, huh, Kitty?"

 _Kitty_ tried his best not to let his mind go to the gutter.

He should tell her. He _really_ should.

"So... Is Ladybug still... Are you—do you still—um—like her?"

"Who said I liked her?"

"Everyone," she replied flatly.

Chat couldn't help but feel a little hurt. "I thought I hid it pretty well..."

Marinette snorted. "By flirting with her on every possible occasion?"

Okay. So maybe not.

"I um... I don't know, it's kind of complicated. I think I'm in love with the girl _under_ the mask."

He watched as she stilled, counting the slow beats of his heart.

"What does that mean?"

6...7...

"Whatever you want it to mean, I guess."

...8...9...10 beats.

"Well in that case, haven't you _always_ been in love with the girl under the mask? You never really had a crush on Ladybug's image... Did you?"

"I... don't know."

_I would've recognized her as you a lot sooner if..._

"I guess it was—is—a bit of both," he added.

_Then why are you so different with me when I'm Marinette?_

There were many unspoken words, they both knew; could see it in each other's eyes. Yet they still chose to remain silent.

Maybe this conversation was best suited for another day.

It was probably supper time now and she knew she would be in trouble if she didn't go home soon, but still found herself wanting to bathe in the comfort that was Chat Noir. She wished she could invite him over; have him dine with her parents and stay up watching movies til the wee hours of the morning, but some part of her held back.

Maybe it was the mask.

Because until she knew who was under it, she was missing the final puzzle piece that formed her mental image of Chat Noir.

(...Now she understood what he meant about Ladybug.)

Marinette rose from her seat, wandering around until she found the proper homes of the books she'd pulled out, and returned to where Chat was still sitting, a single book under her arm.

The superhero followed suit as she checked it—the one about the Greek Gods—out at the front desk, pulling out her library card and handing it over to the kind, middle-aged librarian.

Chat chortled.

"What?"

"You're such a nerd."

Mari rolled her eyes. "Says the one with cat ears and a tail."

"Touché."

"Thanks, Dorice," she told the lady over the counter who offered her a warm smile as they headed toward the exit.

 

The outdoors proved to be just as cold as it looked, what with the sun having settled beneath the horizon.

She whined as they climbed down the stairs, pulling out her hair from the bun and shoving her pink beanie back on. "It was so warm in there..."

"Come on, Princess, _I'll_ keep you warm."

"Like hell you will," she grumbled.

"What, you don't think I can?"

"Not in that," she retorted, making a point of looking up and down at the thin leather.

"Ah, _Ma Chérie,_ do not underestimate the power of body heat."

And then he was all over her, arms wrapped around her waist in a giant bear hug and her feet levitating from the cement walkway.

Marinette was not amused.

Chat, on the contrary, was very pleased with himself, a mirthful laugh causing his chest to vibrate.

"Chat."

"Yes, _Mon Amour?"_

"Put me down."

"No."

And then they were easing their way through town together, per his staff's extending length and superhero agility. It was not a foreign sensation on Marinette's part, but nonetheless a little diverse from that of her yo-yo.

Again, she found herself letting go of whatever concerns gnawed at her cautiousness and just enjoying the moment instead. Like she always did in his company.

Eventually, they ended up on her balcony, where the inevitable goodbyes would soon transpire. She would see him in the near future, obviously (given the constant akuma attacks), but how long would it be until they would speak like this again? Ladybug and Chat had a good relationship, really, they did, but things were complicated. They had to meet on roofs and hide significant parts of their lives from each other. There was always a border between them, no matter how many secrets were confessed.

Marinette sighed.

"What is it?" he asked, and then with a hint of playfulness added, "don't want me to leave?"

She really didn't want to give into him— _really_ didn't want to—but found it important to be honest with him in this moment. She wasn't Ladybug now, she didn't have to put up a front.

"No, I don't."

Chat straightened up, an air of seriousness washing over him.

"What's got you all preoccupied?"

"I..."

The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

"You make things feel okay even when they aren't."

 

She wished the stars were out and that it was quieter—car horns and Parisians proved to be quite loud. At the back of her mind, she couldn't help but notice the contrast from earlier on in the day.

She wished the moment was just a little more perfect, but life didn't work that way—things were never perfect. She was both sweaty and cold, and although it was dark she could still make out the thick clouds in the night sky. Chat looked ready to drop dead from hypothermia, and she could practically hear the ticking of the time she had left before getting called down for dinner.

They stood there for awhile, not saying anything.

(She also wished this moment wasn't so awkward.)

Finally, Chat turned his head sideways, pressing his lips delicately to the soft flesh of her cheek.

Marinette felt like she could fry eggs on her face if she really wanted to—even in the cold.

"Next time tell me when things aren't okay."

"I won't make any promises," she said, shifting the other way.

Had she been Ladybug, her thoughts would've all poured out within the next thirty seconds.

He let out a small laugh. "Stubborn."

"You should go before you freeze."

 _Or you could stay_ , she added, but only to herself.

"Yeah," he replied, though he still lingered for a few moments.

"Marinette!" sounded from somewhere in her house.

She shut her eyes, despite full-well knowing they'd eventually have to part.

"I'll be back," the boy affirmed, before leaping off her balcony and making his own way home.

 

He didn't feel like he could just leave her tonight and if by some miraculous force he had a way of making her feel like she was okay, then so be it, he would stay with her until...

Until whenever.

And so, he returned that night, after rushing through his (as usual) tense dinner, claiming he had tonnes of homework to get done. He found Marinette reading the book she'd borrowed from the library in a corner of her very pink bed in her very pink room.

"Oh no, educational material! I see I am in very dire need," he quipped, hopping down from her trap door.

"Indeed you are, Chaton."

She waved him over, reaching for her laptop and letting him pick a movie to watch. It started out like that—a few movies and the comfort of her blankets—and progressed into a half-asleep Marinette balancing the computer on her thighs and leaning against her companion's warm chest, where one of his arms idled around her waist and the other buried itself wrist deep in a pop-corn bowl.

It was late now and he knew he should go... but this movie was _really_ good... and—and who was _he_ to go and wake up Marinette after her long day? What kind of friend would he be if he did that?

 

And if they woke up tomorrow morning and his transformation had dropped, then by God, who was he to interfere with fate's plans?

* * *

 


End file.
